


a dream that I can call my own

by ashers_kiss



Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Domestic Bliss, F/M, Post-Canon, Slice of Life, Yavin 4
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-19
Updated: 2018-05-19
Packaged: 2019-05-09 00:05:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 669
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14705348
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ashers_kiss/pseuds/ashers_kiss
Summary: Rey wakes to the room flooded with the soft gold of dawn.





	a dream that I can call my own

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Nokomis](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nokomis/gifts).



> Written for the occasion of the lovely [nokomis'](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nokomis/pseuds/Nokomis) birthday, who hopefully had all the cuddles and cake and who I'm thrilled to have been through so many fandoms with. Here's to many more, darling. ❤
> 
> Originally posted [on Tumblr](http://dark-siren.tumblr.com/post/173777093924/nokomiss-psa-my-birthday-happens-to-be-this); also this is only like my second Rey fic? Turns out she's difficult to write.
> 
> Title from [At Last](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=S-cbOl96RFM) by Etta James.

Rey wakes to the room flooded with the soft gold of dawn.

It’s not the scalding red of Jakku, or even the watery shafts of Ahch-To struggling through grey (and if she’s honest, she misses that, a little), and Rey’s discovered she likes it. She likes the steady, building warmth, the play of light across her skin, the way it fills the room and doesn’t chase away the shadows, but swallows them whole. She likes the way it spills through the big window, the one she doesn’t need to shutter tight against the night, against sand that could scrape the flesh from her bones. That she can even _have_ this window, this room, this little stone house that doesn’t creak unless they forget to close the door properly, that doesn’t shake and shudder against the occasional wind.

It's a lot to put on some sunshine, but Rey’s feeling generous these days.

Then Poe shifts, rolls into her and mutters, “You think too hard.” Rey reaches out, works her fingers into the curls at the base of his neck; Poe, still mostly asleep, sighs and presses closer, face smushed into her throat. Rey always thinks it should be uncomfortable, his chin digging into her chest and his breath hot and wet against her skin, but…but it never is.

Later, once the sun’s made it over the sill and spilling solid light across the bed, she’ll get dressed, pick up her books and belt from their shelf. She and Finn have students to teach, and if they’re lucky, Rose will bring them lunch. (Out of them all, Finn’s definitely the best cook, followed by Poe, but Rose is the best at charming the owners of the temple _comedor_ into breaking their “no takeaway” rule; Rey suspects she repairs a lot of dishwashers on the quiet.) Then at the end of the day they’ll send the students home, back to their families and bedtime stories and things Rey didn’t even know existed. She’ll get home to find Poe stinking of metal or soil, depending on the project, grinning and loose-limbed until she pushes him into the refresher. She might even join him, especially if he turns the water cold enough to wash away the grime and sweat of the training ground, the dust in her hair after she ducked Finn’s thrust and had to roll instead.

They might make it out before BB-8 chirps at them, because she Does Not Approve of being late for dinner, which never fails to make Poe laugh. And then – then it’s dinner with Kes, and Poe holding her hand under the table all night, until Kes throws them out, because he’s apparently an old man and needs his beauty sleep.

(Poe holds her hand all the way back too, and kisses her under the trees, orchids cloying the air and his hands sweet on her jaw. Except for the times he waits till they’re back inside, when he pushes her up against the wall with a mouth that’s hot and desperate and quick, eager hands. Those are the nights they tend not to call Leia and Lando.)

It’s a routine, stretching out unending in front of her. In front of _them_ , all of them. It’s _comforting_ , and never fails to steal her breath. Not when she can still feel the blade in her hand, the grooves against her fingers.

“I’m just…planning,” she says.

Poe hums, presses a sleep-messy kiss to the dip of her collarbone. “Should’ve never married a teacher,” he says; when Rey tightens her fingers in his hair, twists a little, his laugh is breathy enough to catch in her belly. “How long till you need to move?” he asks, looking up at her with suspiciously bright eyes.

Rey doesn’t look to the chrono, or even the window. The sun brushing their skin, their bed, is golden, burning at the grey in Poe’s curls, lingering at the corner of his mouth. “Long enough,” she says, and it’s her turn to kiss him.


End file.
